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he would do. He felt the hope of
freedom strong in him.
But presently the cry of the hounds
grew louder lquder still, and the
scent of the brackish water was only
beginning to fill his nostrils. Madly
now Joe plunged into the scrub. Sud
denly he emerged upon a little creek,
one of the numerous tributaries that
fed the bayou.
. A woman was kneeling on the
bank, her back toward him, and oc
cupied in bailing out a bot. As Joe
approached she started and looked
eagerly toward him; then seeing the
negro, she sprang to her feet with a
little cry.
"Where is he?" she asked. "Mr.
Bentley?"
Joe gaped at her vacantly. Then,
seeing the boat, he made toward it
The woman's figure barred his path.
"You can't take it!" She cried. "It's
for for Mr. Bentley."
Joe thrust her aside and made for
the boat. The cry of the bloodhounds
grew louder and suddenly a ragged
figure crashed through the glade and
stumbling, panting, collapsed at the
woman's feet She cried out and
. threw her arms about him.
Suddenly Joe remembered a wom
an who had loved him. She was a
black woman, but she had meant all
to him that this girl meant to Bent
ley. And in a flash he recognized the
situation. Bentley had escaped, too;
the bloodhounds were after him, and
it was Bentley, not he, who occupied
the stage at that moment
As- the man rose, sobbing for
breath, and turned to Joe, the negro,
who had already one foot in the boat,
stopped and indicated that Bentley
should enter. He even assisted the
girl in; he watched her haul Bentley
after her, saw them pole off and
then the hounds burst itno the glade
aud gave tongue among the palmet
tos. Already the boat was in the middle
of the stream, which widened into the
bayou below. Joe turned and pushed
into the palmetto again.
He knew that the hounds would
not transfer their attention to the
new scent as long as they could fol
low the old, which ended beside the
stream. They would wait there un
til the wardens came. Joe sprang
through the swampy mangrove
clumps, making toward the bayou
afoot The cries of the hounds died
away. ..
What impulse had possessed him t5
yield the boat to Bentley and tha,t
girl, when he could have had it for
himself? He had aided his bitterest
enemy to escape Bentley, who had
called him "nigger," and cursed him
every time he came near him in the
convict camp. Bentley, who had re
fused to eat with the black prisoners
and carried his point. And he had
given Bentley freedom.
Sweat rolled down the big black's
face. He cursed and shook his fist
impotently toward the bayou.
The cries of the hounds aroused
him from the quiet jog into which he
had fallen. They had taken up the
rpifrsuit again, with the wardens.
.Evidently his tracks had been seen;
It must be known that two men had
escaped. Once more Joe was run
ning toward the bayou, stratched
and torn, seeking to reach the water.
But it was always difficult to discover
the limits of the inlets in those man
grove swamps. The bayou might
have been a mile or five yards away.
As Joe ran the ground became more
slippery, the mangroves denser; his
feet stuck in the soft mud. The
hounds were gaining on him. He
stopped in dispair, and at that in
stant, with loud howls of triumph,
the beasts leaped from among the
palmetto and raced down into the
mangrove.
One instant Joe saw their lithe
bodies and the forms of the wardens
plunging through the scrub behind.
The next he heard the sound of an
oar dipped into water near him. The
prow of a boat shot through the man
eroves. Joe saw Bentley and the eirL
I, They had come back for him. J
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